


Call Me Maybe

by kay_emm_gee



Series: the kids aren't alright (The 100 tumblr prompts) [68]
Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Drunken Confessions, F/M, Misunderstandings, Pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-20
Updated: 2015-12-20
Packaged: 2018-05-07 18:32:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,932
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5466788
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kay_emm_gee/pseuds/kay_emm_gee
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Maybe he wouldn’t listen to it.</p>
<p>Maybe it wasn’t as bad of a message as she remembered.</p>
<p>Maybe the system cut her off before it got to her admission that she had been stupid to end things with him.</p>
<p>Maybe she should just move to the West Coast so she won’t have to show her face again.</p>
<p>Basically, a drunken voicemail was going to be the end of Clarke Griffin, and all because she was in love with Bellamy Blake. </p>
<p>{Prompt: "“i know we were never officially together or anything but seeing that picture you posted on [insert social media] with him/her literally felt like you carved my heart out of my chest and stomped on it and i’m not really sure why i’m leaving this voicemail but my pillow still smells like you and i miss your stupid face” AU" }</p>
            </blockquote>





	Call Me Maybe

_What voicemail._

Clarke blinked, clearing her sleepy vision as she brought her phone closer to her face, which was nearly hidden under the covers. She looked at Raven’s text again, frowning. Even closer up, it still said the same thing:  _what voicemail._

Leaning up and groaning, Clarke brushed her tangled hair away from her eyes, squinting at the screen in the early-morning. It didn’t make a difference. The text thread still showed Clarke apologizing at three A.M. last night for a leaving a ridiculously long voice message, to which Raven’s reply still read:  _what voicemail._

As she struggled to thumb over to her recent calls, the memory of the ranting, rambling, very drunken message she had left for Raven last night resurfaced. It had started off as a complaint at being left alone with Monty, Miller, and Jasper for dinner plans, but somehow had ended with her discussing with herself in-depth how Bellamy didn’t even  _like_  electronic music, so why was he at a concert on a date with Roma, smiling in that damn photo, if he didn’t even  _like_ it? 

The pang in her stomach at remembering the Instagram photo–them pressed together, his arm around Roma’s waist, hers flung around his neck, her lips against his cheek–overpowered the throbbing in her head from her hangover headache. She and Bellamy never had posted pictures together; public acknowledgement of their friends-with-benefits relationship wasn’t something they had needed. Still, she found herself wishing she had more proof that they had been real than just selfies of the two of them in bed, making silly faces at the camera, hair and sheets mussed from sex and lips swollen and smiling.

The longing feeling haunting her didn’t last much longer, though, turning to panic as the implications of Raven’s response ( _what message_ ) registered. Her fear was confirmed when she finally dared to glance at the outgoing calls log and saw that Bellamy’s number was the last one she had dialed.

“ _Fuck,_ ” she moaned, realizing in her drunken state, she had dialed him instead of Raven and now the message was waiting on his phone, like a hastily constructed bomb (of feelings) just waiting to go off. She continued to whimper her despair as she burrowed back under her covers, hiding from reality.

_Maybe he wouldn’t listen to it._

_Maybe it wasn’t as bad of a message as she remembered._

_Maybe the system cut her off before it got to her admission that she had been stupid to end things with him._

_Maybe she should just move to the West Coast so she won’t have to show her face again._

She drifted off into sleep calculating the costs of moving cross-country and considering if Wells would follow her there too, like he had followed her to Boston, though that would piss Raven off considering they had only just worked their years-long tension out and started dating.

When she woke hours later to her phone pinging, dread flooded through her. After working up the courage to look, she sighed when she saw it was just Raven.

_WHAT MESSAGE. Monty texted you were in bad shape when you left last night. ARE YOU ALIVE._

_I’m alive. Also I’m moving to California_ , Clarke responded, managing a weak laugh when Raven didn’t ask why, just asked her to send back lots of avocados. That led to a conversation about why there was not an avocado emoji, and eventually Clarke was able to distract herself enough to put the message fiasco out of her mind. When she hadn’t heard from Bellamy at all by the evening, she was a little relieved, hoping she had found a reprieve from embarrassment.

* * *

 

She didn’t worry about the message again–convincing herself he had deleted it or ignored it–until trivia night came, and with it a boatload of resurfacing insecurities. Raven had bombarded her with threatening texts regarding the apparent necessity of her attendance, which had been enough to get herself dressed and at her front door. Still, Clarke let her hand drop from the knob, and her purse drop to the floor. She couldn’t do it. Bellamy never missed trivia, she hadn’t heard a word from him in two weeks, and tonight was not going to be the night when all of her dirty laundry was aired, not in front of all of their friends.

Glaring at the door, because she  _hated_  missing trivia, she angrily toed off her shoes and retreated back to the couch. She jabbed at the remote to turn the television on and spent the next few hours fuming as she watched reruns instead of drinking and laughing and creaming the other teams at Ark Street Tavern. The sourness of regret and frustration simmered inside her gut, because Bellamy fucking Blake was a menace to her sanity. She steadfastly ignored her own choices–kissing him that first night, laughing when he looked flabbergasted but then excited, finding excuses to slip away from their friends for stolen kisses and more, starting to hoard time with him like it was the end of days, practically living at his place the last few weeks, then running without thought when she started to see more than ‘just for fun’ in his eyes–and instead focused on how social media was a stupid psychological experiment in how to make you feel shitty about yourself. One goddamn Instagram photo and she was a loose-lipped mess, destroyer of friendships.

So caught up in her thoughts she didn’t hear the knock until a muffled, annoyed voice accompanied it.

_Open the damn door, Clarke._

Something hot flared in her stomach–anger or fear, she didn’t know–because speak of the devil. It was Bellamy in the hall.

“What,” she barked when she finally mustered the courage to swing open the door. Hopefully he would take the flush she felt on her cheeks as annoyance and not for what it really was–something she definitely wanted hidden from him.

“Where were you?” His voice was hard and pissed off.

“I needed a night off,” she shot back. “Why’s it matter?”

“We lost to Mt. Weather.”

“Shit,” she exclaimed, momentarily distracted, hand tightening on the door. The assholes from the local university were their biggest rivals and would lord this victory over them for who knows how long.

“Miller’s threatening to replace you, you know.”

Clarke just arched her brows skeptically.

“Raven shot him down, obviously.”

“Obviously.”

Her presumptious tone had his mouth relaxing, almost into a smile. The tension returned, however, when he again asked, this time more softly, “Where were you?”

She finally had to look away, over his shoulder at the apartment door opposite hers. Griding her jaw for a few seconds, she finally answered, “I had a reason.”

“A reason?”

“A good reason.”

He just waited expectantly, brows knitting together in what appeared to be confusion.

Tiredness washed over her, as well as the need to wipe away the worry lines in his forehead with her fingers. “Stop it, Bell. You know why I didn’t come.”

“I really don’t.”

Groaning, she knocked her temple against the side of the door. “Please. We both know you heard it.”

“Heard what?”

“Don’t be an asshole,” she sniped. Why he was playing ignorant, she didn’t know.

“Then don’t be obtuse,” he cracked back, pushing past her into the apartment. “Trust me, I have no damn idea why you’re being so difficult.”

The  _as per usual_  wasn’t said aloud, but she heard it loud and clear in his grumbling tone.

“The message, Bellamy!” She finally admitted, tired of the charade. “The goddamn embarassing message drunk me accidentally left on your phone.”

“Clarke–”

“Don’t screw with me,” she snapped, cutting off his forthcoming denial by holding out her finger pointedly. “You were my last call that night and the tequila didn’t make me forget everything, though I wish it had. I left a message saying–”

“Saying what?” He interrupted, looking halfway between confused and pissed off.

“Doesn’t matter.”

Her cheeks flared with more heat, no doubt moving from pink to red now, and his eyes widened slightly.

“Clarke,” he said, softly but firmly as he stepped towards her. “I don’t have my voicemail set up, which Octavia has been on my case about for ages. So nothing was recorded. What did the message say?”

She backed away from him, frowning. He just continued to advance. She glared, he met her gaze unflinchingly.

“Clarke.”

Her back bumped against the hallway wall, with Bellamy less than a foot in front of her. “ _What._ ”

“What did the message say?”

She met his gaze finally, and the promise she saw there made her brave. “That I made a mistake.”

“You made a mistake.” Only a few inches were between them now. “When?”

“When,” she started, eyes darting to his lips. “When I, um.”

“When you, ah, what?”

Clarke growled at the playful lilt to his voice. Her patience snapped and she popped up, kissing the growning smirk right off of his lips.

“Now you know,” she muttered after a few minutes of her mouth, her hands, her body, her heart all too easily falling into their old pattern. Then she swore, pushing away from him. “Shit.”

“What?” Bellamy asked, arms immediately bracing agains the wall to cage her in, as if he was afraid she would bolt. An action not unwarranted given their past, she thought wryly. Then she sobered again when she thought of what–and who–had brought them back together.

“Roma,” she mumbled, cheeks flaring with regret now. She wasn’t that girl, that jealous girl who stole her ex–if she could even call him that–when he was on the brink of something new with someone else.

What she didn’t expect was Bellamy to drop his head and chuckle. “Oh boy. Roma is never going to believe this.”

“This isn’t funny!” She cried, slapping his shoulders. “Why are you laughing? Stop laughing!”

He caught her eye finally, his own gaze dancing with amusement. “It was fake, Clarke.”

“What?”

“It was a fake date. A favor, because–”

Indignation rose in her chest, because if he had done this on purpose to get a reaction out of her, there would be hell to pay. “You–”

He laughed as he stole another kiss from her. “My favor to her. Her ex moved back to town. She asked me to help make him jealous.”

Clarke narrowed her gaze at his delighted smile, weighing the truth in his words. “You better be telling the truth.”

He said her name again, admonishing this time, but she didn’t stop glaring until he sighed heavily and offered his phone.

“Call Roma, if you want. She’ll confirm.”

With one last wary glare, Clarke pushed his hand away gently. “Alright.”

“Alright.” His grin widened, if that was possible, and the openness in it made it hard for Clarke not to break out smiling herself.

“So we’re doing this, then?” He asked, leaning in a bit closer, close enough to make her breath hitch.

“Doing what?”

He let out a small huff before pressing his mouth to hers softly, slowly, teasingly.

“What was that?” She breathed when her lungs would let her again.

“That was me going all in.”

The weight in his brown eyes matched the heaviness in his voice, and only then did her own tension lift. Her lips tugged upwards as she replied, “Finally.”

She smothered his groaning laughter by throwing her arms around his neck and kissing him again, happy knowing that this time, she wouldn’t have to wonder if this one would be their last.

**Author's Note:**

> Come find me on tumblr (kay-emm-gee)!


End file.
